


been thinkin’ ‘bout the ways that i wanna hold you close.

by cinnamonvibes



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:43:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7847320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamonvibes/pseuds/cinnamonvibes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The girl next door has 3 wiener dogs, 2 cats, a beaver and a boyfriend that likes to fuck her against the kitchen counter. (college!au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. girl next door's got flowers in her hair

She moves to Gotham for its distance away from Seattle and the rising Botany division at the university. The subway tile in her kitchen is a subtle shade of cerulean, the floor is cement and the wall against her bed is exposed brick. 

Pamela loves it.

—

The first round of decorations is obvious — Pamela takes advantage of the floor to ceiling windows by creating a curtain of hanging plants. The view of Gotham pier, she notes, is the perfect conversation starter for coaxing her new babies out of their shell in an environment foreign to their terrain.

“You’ll love it here,” she begins, fingers delicate against the leaves; her ministrations are slow, tracing the length of each individual piece of greenery with the utmost care. “I can just tell.” 

Her voice is low, but the smile gracing her features is real. “No more late nights and no more … private study sessions.” She drops the leaf from her grasp, the last words seeping from her lips in a hushed whisper. 

“Just us.”

—

It’s raining the first time she notices her neighbor — dyed blonde hair tied in two perfectly layered pigtails with edgings of blue and pink tinting opposite tips. She's scooping kitty litter into a bag with her nose plugged while Pamela has the kitchen window open to line the sill with potted fresh herbs. 

(The canopy atop her apartment building keeps them dry from the torrent of Seattle rain, an addition that makes the move from Gotham all the more appealing.)

Green eyes watch with interest as the girl, whose nose is plugged with what Pamela assumes to be toilet paper, tenderly pets a solid grey kitten. 

An orange tabby, which is also the smallest, makes its way to the window having spotted her. Pamela isn't quick enough to move out of the other girl’s eyesight and is met with a huge smile. 

The girl, who Pamela notices has since dropped the litter, is now carrying the bundle of orange fur in her arms. She locks eyes with Pamela and uses the kitten’s paw to wave in her direction. 

Pamela waves back. 

(She goes to bed and isn’t surprised when cats walk upon beds of ivy in her dreams.)

— 

It becomes some sort of ritual; Pamela wakes up, takes a shower and tends to her plants at the same time her neighbor feeds her pets. They never speak, but the courtesy exists through the animals she tends to. 

Her favorite, Pamela decides, is the baby of the first encounter — with its vibrant orange fur and emerald green eyes. It watches her sometimes, when blonde hair is nowhere in sight, and Pamela walks through the apartment with a watering can. 

The path starts at the kitchen, continues into the living room and ends when there are no more windows for the kitten to peer through. 

—

“Hey!” Pamela stops her scribbling and looks up at the intrusion with furrowed eyebrows. She’s shocked by the erratic beating of her heart and the nervousness that makes her awkwardly jolt up and out of her chair. 

The girl seems to pay no mind to the spectacle. Instead, she instantly wraps her arms around Pamela’s neck and pulls her close. Her body is flush against Pamela’s, warm and strong.

“It is  _ so _ nice to finally meet ya’! Harley, in ‘da flesh and not behind the glass.” Her neighbor —  _ Harley _ , Pamela reminds herself — stands in front of her, inches taller and with bright blue eyes that pierce through her soul.

Her hand is extended, and Pam takes it with a giggle, despite the prior hug-for-a-greeting already having been established.

“Pamela,” she introduces herself, formally, and sits back down. Harley takes it as an invitation to situate herself across the table.

“‘Sa pretty name.” A physics textbook lands loudly in front of her. “Hope ya’ don’t mind, but I’ve got a test in — ” Harley checks the rose gold Apple watch on her slim wrist, “ — roughly 2 hours, and I’m still struggling between conservation of energy and momentum, and then electricity and magnetism.”

“Oh,” Pamela perks up, teeth baring with her smile. “That’s easy!”

—

It’s T-minus 20 minutes before Harley walks to her death, but the concepts have never made more sense.

“How do you even know all this?” She inquires genuinely, fingers tapping against the wood of the library’s table. Their hands are close. “What are you even,  _ like _ , majoring in?”

“Botany,” Pamela rolls her eyes and shuts the book. “I’m actually a grad student, so it’s more of a  _ specialization _ at this point.”

Harley’s unfazed by Pamela’s arrogance. She checks her watch again, and Pamela notices a notification from “PUDDIN’” flashing on the little screen.

She gets an insight almost immediately.

“Who’s your friend, pretty baby?” 

His limbs are long, features pointed, eyes dark and a single strand of his jet black hair is streaked neon green. His dominance is intruding, and he makes his presence known to the entire library by letting out a loud cackle. 

He digs his nose into Harley’s neck, places a sloppy kiss on exposed skin, and Pamela notices her exuberance matches his rowdiness. 

“Is this why you haven’t returned my texts?” He growls, fingers curling noticeably into Harley’s shoulder. “Studying, again? Don’t you ever get bored?”

“Puddin’! She’s the neighbor I told you about. The one Daffodil follows around! Whadda small world, ain’t it?” Harley slings the bag over her shoulder, and Pamela half wonders if he’s the type of guy to carry Harley’s books — if Harley’s the type of girl who’s on the lookout for prince charming.

“It seems  _ Harleen _ here,” his voice is gruff, almost as though he’s slurring. “Has forgotten her manners  _ and _ her intelligence. I’m Joseph Kerr.” Like Harley, he too extends his hand, though the approach is less warm. His skin is pale, nails dirty and a white gold rolex fits snugly against his wrist.

Pamela feigns ignorance, packing her items in a hurry to ignore the extension of “courtesy.” Her laptop slides seamlessly into her knapsack. Joseph drops the hand, lips curling into a snarl.

“Joseph,” Pamela begins, sliding her arms through the loops of her backpack. “As an aspiring physician, it is in my line of duty to warn you. It seems as though you’re suffering from a strong vitamin D deficiency. A common indicator of this is pale skin. However, you should consult a licensed doctor for a more accurate diagnosis. Nice meeting you.”

A pause, and then. 

“I’ll see you around, Harley.”

—

Harley isn’t dumb … just misguided. Pamela’s picked up on that fact from conversations amidst the window sills. 

Harley sits — 14 stories up — legs dangling over the building and the threat of immediate death looming closely, while Pamela has placed a dining set in the kitchen and has moved the chair closer to the window.

“Jay’s not, like, mean,” she says randomly. Pamela hums in reply, foregoing the usage of a chair to kneel on the ground and stay leveled with her plants.

“Kinda seems it.”

“Yeah, but. No one actually  _ gets _ him.” The grey tabby, who Pamela now knows is named Selina, rests on Harley’s shoulder. “Not like I do, at least. He’s troubled — needs a girl like me to keep him in his place, you know?”

“Men don’t need women, Harley.” Pam looks up from her basil. “Once they’ve got their fix, it’s game over.”

“Not my Puddin’!” Pamela can sense how scandalized Harley is at the mere thought.

“How’d you meet him? School?”

“No, a party. He doesn’t do school, it’s for idiots.” 

Pamela can’t help but scoff.

“Wha’s that for, Pam-A-Lamb!?” 

“Just sounds like you could do better.”

Their conversation ends prematurely. Harley’s door flies open, and just like that, Jay takes her way.

They don’t speak for the rest of the week, despite their quick, month long blooming friendship. Jay’s made himself a semi-permanent occupant in Harley’s home.

(“He’s in hiding, forgot to pay the bills.” Harley had said, index finger up to her mouth in a silencing motion. Pamela can see him fast asleep on the couch, all menacing features gone. “There’s a warrant out for his arrest, too, but no one can know that.)

—

It’s weird, Pam thinks, when she catches them acting  _ almost _ normal. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that Joseph — well,  _ Jay _ , as Harley so sweetly calls him — has a temper, and he’s not afraid to show it.

She’ll watch them sometimes — not necessarily intentionally, but she’ll get glances of Harley cooking dinner and Jay counting bags of a white substance on the dining table.

It’s that, really, that Pamela assumes is the underlying problem in their relationship. Harley’s a nice girl — too nice to be associated with petty thugs, and a lifestyle Pamela knows can be deadly. But she’s too naive, too in love to let it faze her.

When Harley isn’t home, he brings along friends — older men that Pamela pretends not to see. She closes her blinds, but listens to their conversation. 

It’s obvious, too, that the disrespect exists on levels outside of just conversation. Pam watches the number of women that enter Harley’s home, and this time it’s Jay who closes the blinds.

Pamela wonders if it’s her place to let a friend know about her accusations, but she buries her nose in a book, and waits for Harley to come to her senses.

—

Jay leaves the next day, and it’s the first time Harley steps foot into Pam’s home. Her makeup is streaked, eyes swollen from crying.

Pamela doesn’t need to hear the reason to know the cause of the situation. This time, she initiates the hug, standing on the tips of her toes to wrap her arms around Harley’s neck and bring her into a tight embrace.

She walks her towards the living room, hug still firmly occurring, and leads her to the couch. Harley melts into her touch and follows willingly, taking comfort in the plush green that is the centerpiece of Pamela’s living room.

“He never deserved you,” Pamela speaks, finally. Harley’s bottom lip quivers, and she takes a cushion to her chest. 

“It’s not like that.” 

“Then what is it?” Pam doesn’t mean to raise her voice, but she doesn’t seem to notice Harley flinch. She tries again when she’s met with silence. “What  _ happened _ , Harley?”

“He’s on a business trip, but I  _ hate _ when he goes on business.” The whine in her voice is childlike, and Pamela has little to no patience for petty relationship drama. But, she’s Harley’s friend, and that’s the rebuttal to her own green monster.

“Why?”

“Well, it’s… sometimes he comes back after a day — and sometimes it takes him years.”

“Years?! How long have you two been dating?”

“Since the 11th grade.”

“And it hasn’t been consistent … has it?”

“No.” Harley won’t look her in the eye. “I don’t know how long he’ll be gone this time.”

Pamela sighs, and sits next to Harley. She pulls her into another embrace, letting Harley’s head fall on her shoulder. “I’m not much older than you, Harls.” Pamela starts, fingers delicate on Harley’s scalp in the tender way she treats mother Earth. “But, if you’re 21 and have been dating the same male since you were 17, then I get why it’s hard for you to see the other side. And, you …” It pains Pamela to say it. “Love him, but that’s just men. They’re inconsiderate, shameless, and they’re not afraid of using people. You deserve better, you’ve always deserved better.”

This time, Harley doesn’t reply, just leans closer into Pamela and lets the tears fall.

—

Things change after that. Pamela almost forgets about Jay, because they’re rounding into week three and he’s nowhere to be found.

Harley calls him twice a day, and ends every night with an ‘I love you, Puddin’ text. 

(He never replies.)

—

Harley starts spending less time on the window sill, and more time in Pamela’s bed. And it isn’t sexual, not in the slightest. It’s girls sharing emotions, secrets and desires about a world that seems to have done them both wrong.

Pamela speaks of abuse, of professors that had hands that would stray, and obtaining the bravery to say goodbye to a life of subordination. 

“If I had known you then, Red.” Harley proclaims lovingly. Her elbow sinks into the bed, and she’s facing Pamela, whose eyes have closed during the story. She opens them gingerly, emerald hues dewed over. “I wouldn’t have let it happen — none of it.”

“You can’t promise that,” Pamela replies, though it’s not accusatory or acidic. Just fact. “And, that’s okay, because you’re here now. And it’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.”

“Ya really think so?” Harley’s smile is bright. 

“I really do.”

—

It’s five months into their friendship, and three months into Jay’s absence, that Pamela really starts to feel the shift. Harley’s touchy, and while she would have attributed it to her personality, it feels different.

When they lie in bed, Harley’s legs tangle with hers, and it becomes an everyday occurrence. 

Harley wakes up in Pamela’s bed, walks the 14 flights of stairs down and then the 14 flights of stairs up to her own apartment to feed her pets. She hangs around her place until Pam comes back from work.

Harley’s curriculum is heavy, but she manages her time efficiently. On days when Pam’s too exhausted to stay up late, Harley enjoys the brushery of Pamela’s living room and does her homework next to the blooming indoor flowers.

It’s seemingly perfect, until Harley’s phone rings and the name flashes brightly, tauntingly.

_ Puddin. _

(Pamela wakes up to an empty bed, and empty home. The result is almost emotionally deadly.)

—

Harley keeps her distance, and the blinds close. 

Pamela goes as far as waiting outside of Harley’s classes, to which she notes Harley no longer attends. The fear starts to build in her chest, and she wonders momentarily if she should call the police. The possibility of Jay getting involved in risky business and dragging Harley isn’t out of the ordinary, but Harley’s defense mechanism in regards to her  _ Puddin’  _ will simply lead to the demise of their friendship.

Pamela isn’t dumb. She knows where Harley’s loyalty truly lies, but it doesn’t stop her from hoping otherwise.

She chooses not to knock on her door, or barge right in, ‘lest she’d like to come face to face with the devil incarnate.

—

She sees them on accident — a mere chance of fate. It’s been a week since Harley left Pamela without so much as a goodbye.

Pamela’s busy schedule tends to have her in bed by 1 am, but with her Professor first in line for a Nobel Prize at the merit of a life altering Climate Change solution, she’s up until 4.

Harley’s beautiful, Pamela knows that much. With an athlete’s body, and blue eyes that captivate you upon first glance. Pamela knows that her attraction to Harley has always been more than physical, but seeing her like this …

She exudes dominance, legs on either side of Jay, chest exposed. Her body arches, and she rises up and down against him to a tempo he can’t seem to keep. Even from the distance, Pamela can see the sheen of sweat dripping down a tight abdomen, illuminated by the lamp in Harley’s living room. Her eyes are closed, and it’s only until his hand seeks to massage her breast that they open.

It’s then that they lock eyes, and Pamela feels the morbid embarrassment flush through her body. She can feel the heat radiating from her head to her toes, but cannot turn away. The white hot anger coursing through her almost starts to feel like desire.

Harley, on the other hand, seems to take this as an incentive to impress. She leans forward, ignores Jay’s attempt at a kiss, and wraps her fingers around his shoulder to keep him firmly in place. Blue eyes never stray away from green, and Pamela is brought back to their initial meeting — sans the kitten.

(When she cums, Harley teases her lip against the white of her teeth, and blows Pamela a kiss.)


	2. it could be lethal, sleeping with a friend

She imagines her reaction is straight out of a romance novel. 

The water — still running — is scented with eucalyptus oil and cascades over the rim of the tub, but Pam doesn’t care. The sensation of flowing water rejuvenates her; it’s the only thing that keeps her remotely grounded after the devastation.

Her fingers lull over the water, breaking mountains of bubbles while  _ Dreams _ by Fleetwood Mac plays on consistent loop in the background. 

Whether or not it’s the blooming jealousy out of developing feelings for Harley outside of a friendly manor, or just the sheer disgust that someone as nice as Harley could subject herself to a boy as disgusting as Joseph Kerr, Pamela has no idea when  _ it _ got this serious.  _ It _ being the inexplicable recoil to Harley’s  _ show _ . 

She tries to listen, closes her eyes and focuses on the torrent of water that reminds her of Seattle winds and grey skies.

_ You’re so beautiful _ , Pamela imagines Joseph’s hand on Harley’s chin. His teeth are fanged, cheeks sullen, but Harley looks at him with crystal blue eyes that will forgive murder.  _ Mine, mine, mine.  _

When the duo blurs into a unit, Harley hovering naked above him with their mouths locked in a kiss, Pamela closes her burning eyes.  

(Stevie Nicks is the only voice she hears, but Harley is the only face she sees in her dreams that night.)

—

Pamela doesn’t, y’know,  _ chase _ .

Or, forgive easily.

Or, like, fall in love  _ ever  _ …

But there’s something about Harleen Quinzel that has her going absolutely crazy to the point of plant genocide. And because her head is occupied with vivid images of Harley’s puckered lips blowing kisses her way, she administers the wrong liquid into a culture of bacteria. 

“Fuck me,” she groans, standing up immediately to check the damage.

“Could be arranged.” Says a voice behind her, the girl’s skin so tanned, it lusters in the bright lights emitting warmth to the pseudo-greenhouse lab.

“Selina,” Pamela rolls her eyes. The girl takes advantage of Pamela’s stance and steals the chair. 

“Any reason why you haven’t answered my texts … calls … or fucking Facebook IMs? I literally thought you had,  _ like _ , died.”

“You act like you don’t know where I am  _ literally _ every day.”

“Yeah, duh. That’s why I’m  _ here _ .”

“Whatever. What do you want?”

“Uhm,” Selina emits confidence. She rolls her eyes, repositions herself so that she can lean her chest against the backrest of the chair, and throws a pencil found on Pamela’s desk directly at her face. “To see if you were fucking alive?! You literally went AWOL for a month. What’s going on?”

Pamela barely dodges the assault. She uses it as an excuse to turn around, and ignore Selina’s questioning gaze. She brings the disc of bacteria to the trash, and removes her lab coat. 

“Teetering around the subject won’t get me to leave, Pam. I was really worried.” Selina’s hand reaches out, fingers gripping to the hem of Pamela’s shirt, a silent notion that she’s here,  _ really _ here for her. 

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“I have time.”

—

“Dude, fuck.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I, like, actually  _ know _ Harley.” 

“What?!”

“Yeah, dude. We’re friends. Like,  _ close _ friends.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“How was I supposed to know you were trying to play the clit fiddle and wanted an introduction?!”

“It’s not like that. Not like that  _ at all _ .”

“Well, duh. She’s still with Joseph, right?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I hate that dude.” They say in unison. 

Pamela laughs first, then shakes her head.

“Did you know she named her cat after you?”

“Yeah.”

“And she nursed a  _ beaver _ back to health after some frat boys used it for hazing.”

“I didn’t.”

“And, she’s like here on a gymnast scholarship and almost made it to the olympics, but —”

“You’re really into her.”

“I know.”

“You’re fucked.”

—

She figures Harley’s smart enough to understand the reason for their drift, but for someone who exudes arrogance and confidence, Pamela can’t find it in her to make the first move.

Pamela likes science. She likes logic, so it just,  _ logically _ , doesn’t make sense for Pamela to reach out when Harley practically sabotaged their friendship.

_ just tell her u thought it was hot ...  _ Selina messages her, the three dots indicating she’s still typing,  _ she’s definitely a freak.  _

_ don’t be rude.  _

_ no, i mean like. she’s into that 50 shades of grey shit _

_ ugh can you seriously not say that. i don’t want to imagine her and pennywise getting it on AGAIN _

_ did u just call him a clown? LOL _

_ :) _

Pamela sets camp in an isolated corner in the library, dropping her phone in her backpack to ignore the distraction. First year grad student blues have her spending midterm season surrounded by other students in attempts of being influenced to study.

She’s blasting  _ Linger _ by The Cranberries when the buds are ripped from her ears.

“What the fuck — ” she starts, but silences immediately at the blue eyes that stare down at her.

“You’re ignoring me, Red.”  

“Harley … ”

“You never open your blinds anymore. Ain't that bad for ya’  _ babies _ ?” Harley puts air quotes around the word. “‘nd,  _ seriously _ ? Your playlist is called Old Skool? Where’s all the One Direction?” 

Harley seems to have no recollection of the worst night in Pamela’s life. Rather, she leans over Pam’s shoulder and places two fingers on her mousepad to scroll through Pamela’s Spotify. 

“Can you not?” Pam can feel the weight of Harley on her back. She shrugs her off.

Harley feels the shift and puts space in between them. Her arms fold defensively in front of her. “You gon’ give me a five page paper on why you’re acting weird, or do I gotta beat it outta you?”

“You’re not an idiot, Harley, but you are an asshole.” Pam minimizes the Spotify window, looks from her seat up at Harley.

This time, Harley rolls her eyes. “It was a spur of the moment thing, y’know. It was hot. You watching ‘n’ all.”

That’s enough to elicit a violent reaction from Pamela. She shuts her laptop, and shoves it into her knapsack. The chair loudly screeches as its legs push against the floor. Heads turn to look at them. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“What?” Harley’s playing her, Pamela can tell. Her lips curl into a small smile; it’s almost mischievous. Harley reaches out to her, wraps her fingers around Pamela’s wrist. Her voice is soft, barely a whisper. “I know you miss me, Red.” A pause. “I know you like me.”

Pamela’s heart beats rapidly in her chest. She ignores Harley’s comments, and loosely tucks her arm into one of the straps. The knapsack hangs from her shoulder, and she stares Harley directly in the eye. Red bangs wisp in front of her, but Pamela doesn’t push them out of the way.

“I don’t even know you, Harley.”

Pamela makes sure to bump Harley with her shoulder on the way out.

_ — _

March 29

_ look i’ve written this message like a bajillion times and i think you’re lying when you say that you don’t know me, because i think you might actually know me more than anyone in the world. and i’ve told you secrets i don’t even tell jay, but i just want you to know that i love you. like i’m not in love with you, but you’re my best friend and daffodil misses you too _

April 7

_ i’m not trying to be pushy… but a reply would be nice _

April 9

_ leaving your blinds closed for that long cannot be good for your plants or your mental health _

April 14

_ i think you probably hate me but i don’t know who else to tell that would actually be genuinely happy for me, but i got an A+ in physics _

April 19

_ jay finally got enough $$ so he moved out. got a studio a few blocks away from here. i really miss you _

_ April 20 _

_ happy 4/20 red. _

_ April 23 _

_ i’ll wait _

_ — _

When Harley pulls her heart out of her chest and makes it difficult for her to breathe, she works around it.

Pamela does well with routines. It’s what she attributes her college success to, actually. But, the diction of her daily timeline isn’t strict, she’s just adamant on getting all tasks done for the day.

Pam knows that Harley’s classes don’t start until 10am, which makes for a seamless transition of morning sunlight for her children.

( _ No one likes 8 ams _ , Harley had said. To which Pam had replied nicely,  _ I do. Makes me productive for the rest of the day. That’s what Saturdays are for. Sleeping in.  _ And then Harley had straddled her, cupped Pamela’s face, and said,  _ You’re crazy. I like it.) _

So, she’s up everyday by 6, waving hello to the only member of Harley’s harem that’s awake — Daffodil.

—

On April 25, her hands graciously pull open the curtains to allow the rays to seep through the window panes. Immediately, she can feel the warmth of the giant star coaxing her plants out of their sheltered hiding, but what catches her attention out of the corner of her eye is far more heart-warming.

_ ROSES ARE RED _

_ VIOLETS ARE BLUE _

_ HARLEY MISSES HER BEST FRIEND, _

_ IT’S TRUE _

The writing is comical. Pamela recognizes Harley’s childlike, doctor approved handwriting almost instantly. The marker, she hopes, is washable, because it’s leaked slowly down the window pane.

—

“Pam?” Harley rubs her eyes, the door is opened entirely, but Harley has her foot blocking Daffodil’s exit into the hallway. 

“I got your message.”

“Which one?” There’s sleepiness that still clouds Harley’s voice, but there’s an airiness that tells Pamela there’s hope for them. 

“All of them.”

“I’m really sorry for playing ya’ like that, Red.” Harley seems more awake now. “Wasn’t cool of me at all.”

“It wasn’t.” Pamela’s not letting her off easy. “And you really, really fucking hurt me,  _ but _ . We’re best friends, and there’s no reason why I should hold a grudge. What you and Joseph do is your business.” 

“And I’ll keep it that way, I promise.”

—

Jay breaks up with Harley the next day.

Pamela calls it fate, Harley calls it the end of the world.

—

“It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.” Selina says. The blinds are open, and Pamela sits on her kitchen counter. Selina’s making faces at kitten Selina next door. “So, I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“What are you talking about?” Pamela rolls her eyes, and kicks her legs to a minute rhythm out of nervousness. “I wasn’t going to try anything, you dingus.”

“You won’t, but she will.”

—

They hang out together  _ a lot _ . 

If Harley isn’t over at Pamela’s, then Pamela’s lounging in Harley’s bed, surrounded by her furry legged friends.

She knows, now, that Daffodil enjoys his ears scratched, while kitten Selina prefers her neck caressed. The three weiner dogs — who Harley has conveniently named Dorito, Frito and Cheeto — like the smell of feet, and therefore rest precariously against Pamela’s toes.

As for Harley, she likes to rest with her head on Pamela’s chest.

—

It takes a week before Harley makes a move.

Pamela would be lying if she said she wasn’t anticipating the right moment, but she’d been true to her word, completely respectful of the presumed boundaries.

It’s a Wednesday night, and Pamela’s studying on her rounded kitchen table when Harley forgoes her own studies to saddle up behind Pamela.

Her fingers are smooth, though cold against Pamela’s skin. They elicit a trail of goosebumps up the length of Pamela’s arm, Harley’s nails scratching a path up until they halt at her shoulder. The strong fixture against her shoulder almost startles Pamela, but she, instead, releases a short breath.

She’s about to speak when Harley’s voice whines provocatively. The timbre in her tone makes Pamela shiver.

“I’m bored, Pam-A-Lamb.” Harley leans down so that her lips brush against Pamela’s ear. “Play with me.”

—

They fuck first on the couch.

Harley leads her to the piece of furniture with their fingers laced, lays her down against the green cushions and straddles her in one easy swoop.

Pamela’s actions are greedy; she accepts Harley’s leadership, but not without compromise.

“Shirt,” she breathes against Harley’s stomach, leaning upwards on the couch to kiss the space between the hem of Harley’s shirt, and waistband of her pants. It’s the first touch of skin, and Pamela’s already mesmerized. “Too much clothes.” 

Harley looks down at her with a smirk, and folds the shirt over her head to reveal a small J tattooed just under the curve of her left breast. It’s covered, slightly, by the lace of her bra, but Pamela sees it clearly.

She removes Harley’s undergarments easily, tossing the bra to the side, and placing her palm flat against the small of Harley’s back. Pamela uses that leverage to bring Harley closer to her, taking the blonde’s nipple into her mouth. The thumb on her other hand shields the J, and she rubs the skin with more force than necessary.

“I hate him,” Pamela says, kissing up the expanse of Harley’s chest, bypassing the jut of her collarbone. Harley takes the initiative, and cups Pamela’s face from the leverage of being on top. 

“Me too,” she’s sincere. Harley’s eyes are locked on hers; green meets blue, and Pamela seems to understand the spontaneity of Harley’s actions tonight aren’t so random. She wants this just as much, too.

When they kiss, Pamela starts to believe the Greek mythology found in her textbooks. Harley is the other half she’s spent her life searching for.

Together, not even Zeus can keep them apart.

“Who has too much clothes now?” Harley smiles against Pamela’s lips. She looks ethereal atop of her. 

“Still you,” Pamela teases, and uses her strength to flip them over. The width of the couch almost topples them both on the floor, but Harley moves with finesse along to Pamela’s movements. With her legs spread, now straddling Harley, Pamela reaches for the buttons of Harley’s jean shorts.

They’re in sync the entire time.

Pamela lowers Harley’s shorts from her waist, and Harley meets her with a well timed rise of her hips. Pamela coaxes her tongue against the fabric of Harley’s panties, and she grinds against the ministrations. 

“Fuck,” Harley’s eyes are lidded. Her lower lip is tucked against her teeth, eyes slowly closing. Pale fingers make their way into locks of red hair, pushing away the matted bangs that stick to Pamela’s sweaty skin. “You’re so beautiful, Pam-A-Lamb.”

She laughs against Harley’s throbbing center, teases Harley’s clit with her knuckle, and watches as her body writhes under her touch. It’s inspiring, really.

Pamela understands, then, why people fall in love with the ocean. 

The way she arches into Pamela’s mouth reminds her of the looming tide. And, when Harley cums, it’s like the waves crashing against her. 

She holds her tight, keeps her hands under Harley’s thighs, and brings her closer … closer … closer …

—

“Way too much fucking clothes,” Harley’s strength recovers quickly, much faster than Pamela expected. She’s being pressed against the door jam so hard she knows she’ll feel the bruise tomorrow. “I fucking want you, more than you know.”

At that, Pamela groans into Harley’s mouth. Her hands are everywhere, attempting to take control again, but Harley pins her hands over her head.

Her lips are hot against Pamela’s neck, sucking harshly, and then soothing over with a hot tongue. 

The sensation drives her crazy, and it’s only enthused by Harley dropping to her knees without warning.

The kisses start at the inside of her thigh, the fabric of her jeans is bothersome, but Pamela can feel the imprint of teeth glazing until they reach the button. The article of clothing is gone before Pamela can even beg for her touch. It’s tossed to the side haphazardly and forgotten.

“God, Harley, I  _ need _ you.” Pamela delivers herself fully, looks down at Harley on her needs, and decides the connection needs more. She tucks her fingers under Harley’s chin, and prompts her upwards.

Their lips connect and it’s all teeth and tongue. She only pulls away to rid herself of her shirt, and allows Harley full control. Her hand slides in between them, tipping into the fabric of her panties to discover wetness. 

“Bed?” Harley inquires, and Pamela tilts her head in ecstasy. 

“Anywhere.”

It’s enough of a guidance for Harley. She slides two fingers into Pamela, and reacts to the bend of her body. She pushes herself against Pamela, holding her up against the wall while her palm rubs against her clit. 

Harley adds a third finger, and all Pamela can see is stars. She buries her nose into Harley’s neck, and whimpers as the speed increases. She can feel the release approaching when Harley removes her fingers. 

Pamela whines loudly, emotion unabashed. “Fuck, Harley, you’re joking.”

“And you’re just really wet.” Harley’s eyebrow raises, and she slides her fingers up the length of Pamela’s bare stomach until the fingers slide into her mouth. “I just wanted you to know,” Harley continues, and she wraps her arms around Pamela’s waist, pushing her towards the room. “That I’m happy you moved in next door.”

The mood softens, and Pamela can sense the tension in her shoulders. She only relaxes when Harley pushes her, gently, back on the bed. Yanking her, with her hands underneath Pamela’s thighs, she inches Pamela towards the edge of the bed. On her knees, she removes the final garment keeping Pamela apart from Harley, and places a wet kiss on her center.

This time, there’s no glass in between them or kisses sifted through air, with a measly boy as the receiver of Harley’s sexual administrations.

When Pamela cums, Harley kisses her way up and lets her fingers coil Pamela into ecstasy. Harley kisses her, and Pamela feels complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be real. This happy ending is temporary. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! After watching Suicide Squad, I gotta say, my love for Harley Quinn skyrocketed. My brother used to share his comics with me, and Margot Robbie could not have been a better fit. With that said, I'm a huge fan of the comics, but I haven't written P/H since the days of fanfiction.com. So, bare with me while I get my groove back!
> 
> Lastly, I don't know this author personally, but I was definitely inspired by user areyoukiddingmedude and her little orange kitten bit — as y'all probably saw in the fic. I hope it was okay that I borrowed it!


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